Legend of Brooklyn: Make Them Remember You
by Revan11
Summary: He is the leader of a band of newsies, feared by most and respected by all. But this life wasn't granted to him. He earned his title through surviving his past; a past that brought him to where he was now, a past was anything but care-free. Spot Conlon's past is one to remember. Please feel free to review
1. The Legend is Born

Spot Conlon is the leader of the Brooklyn newsboys… no, not newsboys, newsies. He is feared by many and through this fear he earns respect. But this life wasn't granted to him. He earned his title through surviving his past; a past that brought him to where he was now, a past was anything but care-free. Spot Conlon's past is one to remember; what was once happiness became marred with pain, suffering, and death, where once there were memories became nothing more than faded shadows of ill-desired necessity. Spot's father was an Irish journalist who married a young Italian woman that he had met while he was in Rome covering a story. Spot, was their first born and was named Thomas after his grandfather, he was followed shortly after by Ava, John, and Emma. The family left their home country of Ireland just after the birth of Emma in 1891 when Thomas was just 7. He often recalled the tale of seeing the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor to his younger siblings who could not remember the exciting journey across the great Atlantic. His father found work at the New York World under Joseph Pulitzer; his mother stayed home caring for the children. When Thomas turned 9, his father managed to get him a job as a newsie. Spot loved the work though he never got along with many of the other newsies. A year later his father sent him to boarding school in Chicago, wishing that his children could be reared in a proper education. Thomas had always protested the idea but he loved his parents too much to ignore their wish. Another year came and went and now 11, Thomas had actually taken a liking to his school. But one day, his life would be turned upside down. He hadn't heard from his family in months and it was 3 days before Christmas, when young Thomas stood alone in the Chicago train station, shivering quite badly from the cold snowy conditions. His thin coat and mittens could not withstand the icy temperature. His light brown hair could only keep his head so warm. The boy with the icy blue eyes wanted nothing more than to be back home in Manhattan with his family next to a warm fire celebrating Christmas. But there were other plans in store for young Conlon. A tall man, in a long coat looking quite comfortable in amongst the cold weather, slowly approached the young boy from behind.

"Excuse me? Are you Thomas Conlon?" the unexpected voice said, causing the boy to turn quickly.

"Tommy. I go by Tommy." The boy responded. He could feel his teeth begin to chatter now and his fingers go numb.

"I am Mr. Snyder. I am from New York. I have some very bad news, Tommy. Have you spoken with your family recently?"

"No. Not since May. Why?" he replied, now a bit suspicious.

"I am afraid they have all perished in a fire at your home in Manhattan. I am sorry, Tommy." The man said, a slight melancholic tone in his voice. He knelt in front of the boy and placed his arm on his shoulder. Tommy was in shock, tears erupted from his eyes. He turned away, unable to say anything, instead he began to cry. His father had always told him crying was for children and that he was a man but his mother was opposed to that notion believing that sometimes it was good to cry; right now seemed an appropriate time for that. After a great deal of crying and comforting, Tommy boarded the train with Mr. Snyder to return to New York. The entire trip found the boy huddled in a ball gazing out the window. As they neared New York City, Snyder informed Tommy that he would be staying at the Refuge for now until his grandparents could come for him. A few minutes later they arrived at Grand Central Station and a rich-looking gentleman greeted them as they exited the train.

"Ah. Henry! Another stray coming to stay in your refuge, is he? I don't know how you manage to put up with all those little scums?" the man said. Henry Snyder nodded, "The pay is what drives me."

As they neared the Refuge, approximately half an hour later, Tommy noticed several policemen standing guard outside the gates and even worse bars on the windows of the Refuge. _This is no refuge! It's a prison!_ He turned to Snyder who smiled maliciously, "Welcome to your new home, Thomas Conlon."


	2. Tails and Blazer - Brooklyn

Spot glared at him, "Hardly. This ain't a home, it's a jail and you're the warden!" With that, Tommy sprang from the carriage and bolted toward the gates that lead to his freedom. A master at climbing, he quickly scaled the wall as a group of policemen and Snyder chased after him. Snyder watched from the gates as the pursuit began. He turned to a policeman beside him, "He'll head to his home, that's what he knows best. Bring the carriage." After an hour of running, Spot finally rested in ally behind some crates where he remained for quite some time. He had no idea where he was or if he was even completely safe now. He sat there for a moment before his thoughts turned back to his family. His parents and his three siblings were gone. Dead. No more. Tommy Conlon was alone in the world. None of his relatives had ever cared much about his family and only his grandparents had come to America, everyone else remained back in Europe. Tommy began to cry as he thought of his mother and father kind faces and wiped away tears as he heard the distant laughs of Ava, Johnny, and dear sweet Emma. He had always been Emma's favorite sibling, imitating his every move and finding comfort in his embrace. He continued to cry softly, when suddenly he heard a voice at the end of the ally,

"I swear if I ever see the lousy good-fer-nothin again, I'll soak 'im!" the voice sounded a little older than Tommy's own and rather angry, causing to tense up. "Come on, Blazer, let it go already. Ise tellin ya it aint worth it, so he called ya a liar just get over it." Another voice said. Tommy suddenly felt a sneeze coming and could not stop it. The loud sneeze quickly caught the attention of the two older boys, "What was that?" the second boy asked as their focus fixed on the pile of crates that hid young Tommy. "Maybe it's Shorty. Ise hopin' so. Imma soak him!" Tommy could hear the boys' footsteps getting closer. Suddenly, the crates were cast aside and young Conlon was exposed. He put his hands up in fists, "Don't touch me!" The two boys looked at each other then chuckled a little at the sight of this smaller boy trying to be tough. "C'mere twerp." Blazer said as he reached out toward Conlon. Tommy reacted, extending his fist to grasp Blazer's arm and propelling him into the boy's midsection. Blazer groaned as he toppled to the ground. The second boy, extended his hands, "Oi! Yer a feisty one! Calm down little man! We ain't gonna hurt ya!" Tommy looked to the pacifying boy then down at the injured Blazer, then stepped back. "Ise ain't trustin ya word. Keep ya distance Tall-ee!" he threatened. "The name is Tails not Tall-ee. Ise anything but tall." He laughed. "You got a name?" After a few moments, Tommy spoke, "Tommy, name's Tommy." Tails nodded, "Where ya from?" Again Tommy piped up, "Manhattan. Well I used ta. Me family's dead. Da house just burned down." Blazer, having recovered finally spoke again, I heard 'bout that. One of Pulitzah's joinalists, uh, Conlon was his name. Da whole family got wiped out. You a Conlon?" Tommy nodded. He explained to Blazer and Tails how he had been in Chicago and the story with Snyder and how he had only wanted to go to see the remains of his house.

"We'll take ya, Conlon." Tails said, it's a bit of a walk though, we'se in Brooklyn." Tommy followed anxiously as they led him through the streets, across the Brooklyn Bridge and into Manhattan. After about forty minutes, they reached the familiar neighborhood that Spot had come to know so well in the past 4 years. He could already see his house, at least what was left of it so he broke into a sprint. He had come upon what was left of the front door and immediately felt himself well up with emotions. Tails and Blazer followed close behind him, watching him as he searched the smoldering ashes and rubble of his former home. He could feel the tears streaming from down his face but continued to walk through the barren lot. Suddenly something caught his gaze, it was a wooden slingshot buried, covered by a wooden beam and some ashes but still visible to young Conlon's sharp icy blue eyes. He snatched it up and studied it. Two small initials were inscribed near the base: _JC_. John Conlon. Then he recalled how John had received that slingshot for his birthday the year they had arrived in America and now it would serve as the lone memory of Conlon's younger brother. He grasped it firmly before slipping it into his belt and lifting his eyes skyward. _Keep a look out up there for me Johnny Boy. Take care of Ma and the goils and say hi to Pops for me. _

"Conlon! The Bulls are comin'! We gotta scram! Let's go!" Tails shouted. Tommy turned quickly to leave but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a photo of what appeared to be his family. As he went for it, two arms snatched him up, it was Blazer. "We gotta go!" "But – I – Wait!" It was too late no sooner had the three boys cleared the area then a squad of policemen showed up, led by the Chief Investigator. "Dat's odd." Tails noted, "He only shows up when dey think it's murder or suicide not arson." The boys watched for a few moments from around the corner of a nearby building before Blazer ushered the group back to Brooklyn. Tails and Blazer took Spot to the Lodging House for Newsies.


	3. The Name is Born - The Leader is Dead

"You'se can stay here for now, Tommy." They told him. The younger boy thanked them as they showed him upstairs to his bunk. Before they left, Tommy noticed Tails' had found a cane, similar to his father's. "Where'd ya get that, Tails?" Tails came toward the boy and smiled, "I found it in da rubble, was it ya Pop's?" Tommy nodded, remembering how much his father had favored that black cane with the gold head, now a little scathed from the fire but overall it was in good shape. "Here, take it. I know he'd a wanted ya to have it, then." Tails said, passing it to Conlon who then ran his hand up and down the cane before letting rest on the golden head. He felt a tear coming on but shook it away. "If you boys don't mind, Imma hit da sack, I think." They nodded and promptly left Tommy alone, and within minutes of resting his head on the pillow, he was out.

The next morning, Tommy awoke snatched up his brother's slingshot and father's cane, securing them his belt and made his downstairs. Tails and Blazer were already there amongst a large number of other boys. Tails noticed him and shouted to silence the other boys. "Boys, this here is Tommy Conlon. His whole family just died in a fire a few days ago so he's gonna be stayin' with us awhile." One of the boys piped up, "He gonna sell? Better not take my territory." At this a host of the shouts voiced their agreement. "He's gonna sell, but no, Donny you'se can keep ya territory." Tommy pulled his slingshot from his belt and stared at it. "Is dat yours kiddo?" Donny asked, "You'se even know how ta use it?" Tommy shot him a look and for the first time in a long time, Conlon felt brave, "Yeah I do." Another boy piped up, "Bet you cant hit this here bottle." Blazer stepped between the two, "Runnin ya mouth, Wiz, you know where that always gets ya. Alright, what's your wager." Wiz smirked, "This time, Blazer, I'se got a feelin'. My wager is my sellin' spot, down by da if he misses the bottle, he's back on the streets." A roar of laughter began from the rest of the boys. "Alright then," Blazer said, "Skitts fetch Tommy a rock."

Tommy was nervous but then he thought of how his father taught him bravery and perseverance and suddenly his facial expression changed from worried to determined. Skittery handed him a small rock. He placed it into position, aimed and fired. The air around the rock whooshed as the boys followed its path. Within seconds, it cracked against the bottle and the shards of glassed splintered across the table. Wiz looked in disbelief, "Naw, do it again!" Tommy did so and again he found his mark, splintering the second bottle. A third bottle was placed outside across the street from the lodging house, "You hit this, you can have da docks." Tommy, though, was more concerned with having a place to stay rather than having a place to sell papes. He fixed his aim on the bottle and with moments released his rock. It whistled out from its launching device and zipped across the street, nailing the bottle at its core. The newsies around Tommy all began to whoop and cheer Conlon and likewise boo Wiz.

"Nails it! Right on the Spot" Tails said, "Hey, yeah, there ya go, Spot. We'll call ya Spot, Spot Conlon. And so the name of the legend was born. Silly way to come by a name but that is how it happened. For the next few days Tails and Blazer re-coached Spot in the ways of the newsie and Spot caught on fast. He was soon one of the top newsies selling close to 100 a day and this elevated him in rank up through the other Brooklyn newsies.

Within the year, he was third in command behind Tails and Blazer, respectively. He enjoyed his duties very much and all the newsies respected him even though he was smaller and younger than the large majority of them. Everything seemed to be running smoothly but again Fate had other plans for Spot Conlon. One night while returning from Medda's, Tails broke down to Spot and Blazer that he had been seeing a girl in Queens and wanted to visit her briefly before he returned to Brooklyn. The leader of Brooklyn sent Blazer and Spot on their way and scurried off toward Queens. Thinking nothing of it, the two boys returned to the Lodging House. It was almost midnight when they arrived and Blazer quietly made his way up to his bunk and fell asleep. Spot, however was anxious to hear about Tails' girl so he chose to watch and wait for his best friend on the roof. As he gazed out across the landscape, admiring the beautiful night and bright moon that shone down on the Brooklyn Bridge, he began to imagine what life would be like if he were ever the leader of the newsies, _The King of Brooklyn._ He pulled out his cane and held it commandingly then he proceeded to act like the kings he'd read in books, would have done. After a long bout of daydreaming he had become so busy humming to himself he did not hear the shouts of someone in need of help.

"Help! Somebody help! Blazer! Spot! Donny! Wiz!" Now he heard the shouts. It sounded like Tails. He peered over the edge of the roof to see a dark figure running towards the lodging house. It _was_ Tails! Spot could see a small group of boys just a short distance behind his leader. Spot sprinted from the roof down through the house, alarming the other boys that Tails was in trouble. He reached the door just as Tails approached the porch. "Get back inside Spo – " Tails was cut off in midsentence. He let out a large gasp then stared blankly at Spot in the doorway as he collapsed onto the porch with a long knife imbedded in his back. "Tails! No!" Spot shouted. He could hear the group of ensuing boys clambering off now. He glanced up in time to see the last of the group disappear behind a building; from the figure he saw, he could make out a red bandana covering the boy's head. Without thinking, he took off after them but was stopped by the sound of Josiah, the newsie caretaker, beckoning him to return. The struggle inside him raged on: chase down these rats and kill 'em or go back and check on Tails. "You'd be killed in an instant, boy." Josiah proclaimed, "Let it go." The clear sky had faded away and was filled with clouds that soon released a heavy rain. Out of breath, Spot returned to the lodging house and rushed to Tails' side and immediately yanked the blade out of his friend's back, "Tails! Stay with me! I need you!" With all he could muster, Tails grinned, "Ya never think it's gonna end like this, then it happens. Take care of da boys Blazer. 'Specially Spot, he's got a fire inside 'im but it ain't da time for dat." He turned to Spot, and pulled him close, whispering, "Spot. Take care of yaself. Make them remembah you." Tails eyes shifted slightly and Spot saw the gleam in the dying boy's eyes fade. Then tails spoke his last into Spot's as blood dripped from his mouth, "It was a – tra – p, set – up." Spot gazed bewilderedly at his friend, "What!? Who? Tails. Tails!" Tails spoke no more. He was gone. Spot wrung his hands agony. Blazer put his arm round Spot's shoulder and tried to comfort the boy, "He was my best friend too, Spot. Don't worry we'll find who did this to him – "Spot cut him off, "And I will KILL them."


	4. Spot Conlon, the King of Brooklyn

The next day a doctor examined Tails' body: he had been stabbed four times, suffered 6 broken ribs and had a massive contusion on his skull. The funeral was held a day later, with many newises from Manhattan, the Bronx, Harlem, and Midtown in attendance to pay their respects to one of the most well-known newsies of that time.

Months past, days grew shorter it seemed, and for the most part Newsies from each area stayed away from other areas, save for the Manhattan and Brooklyn boys. Their bond grew strong and soon they were the most respected newsies of all New York. Spot had become well known for his sly, smooth and smart-ass remarks. Spot had assumed second-in-command since Tails' death, so many times the newsies would report to him and he would relay the message to Blazer. Spot had grown into quite a man since he had become a Newsie. He was practically emotionless and greatly feared by many newsies around New York. He had grown cold to kindness and was in a constant appearance of anger.

It was a misty, April day in the year 1897, as some of the newsies from Manhattan and Brooklyn gathered to eat lunch at Tibby's, laughing and joking amongst themselves as typical boys do. Skitts approached Spot's table, "Yo, Spot. I got some chirpin' to do."

Unfortunately for the reporting newsie, Spot was rather agitated that day, "Spill it, Skitts. I'm a busy man." Skitts nervously proceeded, "Ya know how you'se sayin you saw a guy wearin' a red bandana the night Tails' got killed?" "Yeah, what of it?" Spot muttered looking down at the paper he had been reading.

"Me and Sprint was out doin' some reconnaissance for ya in Queens and that's where we found him." Skitts sputtered.

"Found who?!" Spot questioned impatiently, his attention now fixed on Skitts.

"The fella with red bandana; they call him Cobra. He's da new leader of Queens. We'll take ya to him. He's been seen at Medda's a lot recently." Skitts said as he got up to leave. Spot thanked him and finished his reading. Suddenly he heard Blazer's voice, "Spot, we need ta talk."

"I ain't got time Blazer, I got a lead on Tail's killahs." Spot pleaded.

"That can wait Spot. Brooklyn's future is on da line." To this, Spot froze and fixed his attention toward his leader.

Spot was all ears for whatever it was that Blazer had to say because it concerned Brooklyn, and Brooklyn was everything to Spot Conlon. HE waited patiently as Blazer collected his thoughts. After a minute or so, Blazer stared right into spot's eyes, "Spot, I can't do this no more. I can't be a newsie, I can't be the leadah of Brooklyn no more."

Spot froze, "Whaddaya mean Blazer? What are me and the boys gonna do without you'se." As much as Spot enjoyed the thought of being in command, he didn't want to lose Blazer like he had lost Tails. Though he wasn't being killed, leaving was about the closest thing Blazer could do. Brooklyn would fall apart, as much as the newsies respected Spot, they respected Blazer much more, and Tails before him; Brooklyn would be vulnerable to a takeover. Blazer was 16 now, Spot was nearing 13 and many thought his age would be his downfall.

"Spot, I'se watched you grow dese past two years, you've become so much more in dat time then I ever dreamed of becoming. Brooklyn doesn't deserve you, it may never; but Brooklyn does need you, Spot Conlon." Blazer said affirmatively. Even though Spot had grown closer to Tails than he had any other newsie, Blazer had become almost another brother. The newsies, in general, were Spot's brothers, but his connection with Tails and Blazer had far exceeded that of the others.

"Where you headed, Blazer?" Spot asked with a small look of worry inscribed on his face. "England, since my pa died, ma moved da family back to England, save for me. Now she wants me home, gonna put me through the last of an education, I s'pose." Half an hour passed when a man walked into the restaurant and called out a name, "Is there a Daniel Gordon here? His heavy British accent was quite obvious, "I was told he would be here." Blazer looked up and raised his hand, "Dat's me." The man motioned to him, "Daniel, I'm your Uncle Charles. I have come to take you back to England. Your mother wishes to see you." the man said rather happily.

"Your name's Daniel?" Spot questioned. Blazer nodded, with a smirk, "See you around, Tommy."

Spot halted him, "No, not Tommy. Tommy Conlon died in the fire, along with the rest of his family. The name is Spot Conlon, I'm a Brooklyn newsie and I'll soak anybody that tries to take away our dear Brooklyn." Spot grinned, "I guess this is goodbye then Daniel." This time Blazer shook his head, "Naw, Spot, I'll always be Blazer ta you and da boys. See ya round." He gave the ceremonious spit-in-the-hand shake and left Tibby's, never looking back. Spot watched out the window as Blazer got into a carriage with his uncle; he knew he would never see Blazer again or ever understand why Blazer truly wanted to leave. Maybe when he got older he'd figure it out, but until then he had a job to do. He would break the news of Blazer's departure to the rest of the boys tonight…somehow.

"Blazer's gone!?" Donny shouted, as the boys gathered in the lobby of the lodging house that night. Spot nodded silently. A flurry of questions flared from the rest of the newsies. "Where'd he go?" "Who's ta be our leadah, Spot?" "Get Blazer back!" The arguing continued for several moments, while Spot sat quietly with his feet propped up on the table. "Whenever you'se are all done bickering, I'll tell ya what I know." The room quieted. "Blazer's gone to England to be with his muddah. He appointed me the leader." He pulled his cane from his belt and slammed it on the table, "Any objections?" The boys all nodded in unison with approval, not only because they respected Blazer's decision but also because they understood that Tails had envisioned Spot as his successor from the day he and Blazer found him behind the crates in that alley. They truly respected Spot and would do as he wished because they believed in the brotherhood that was Brooklyn. The boys were given a bottle of champagne by Josiah to celebrate the event. They laughed, joked and drank happily as Spot watched the excitement from his new perch, the leader's "throne" as it was called.

_Spot Conlon? Leader of Brooklyn? What a joke! It should have been me! I should have struck a deal with Cobra to get rid of all three of those morons at once. Tails, you failed miserably. Your successor failed and now so will Spot Conlon!_ The mysterious boy slipped from the noisy lodging house and out into the dark streets.


	5. Cobra

September 1897 found Brooklyn in great shape, Spot was pleased with his work and he was even more pleased with his newsies, who had responded well to the quick changeover in leadership. Paper selling was smooth and the boys were pleased with their reward of food and shelter. Yes, everything was fine. At least, Spot made it seem that way. Deep in processes of his mind, he was conjuring all the leads and trying to formulate a plan as to how he could trap Cobra and bring justice to Tails. _It was a – tra – p, got set – up_. Tails last words echoed through Spot's brain. Who helped Cobra? Tails and Cobra had always been at odds for as long as Spot had known the two, so it would be no surprise that Cobra was behind everything. But, it didn't explain to Spot how Cobra knew Tails would be seeing his girl in Queens that night. Somebody was on the inside spilling about everything that Tails was doing. But who could it be? Maybe there is more to Tails' murder than meets the eye.

"Heya Spotty." A voice from behind him called, as he sat bored on the docks. He turned toward the voice which he had come to know too well. "Heya, Race! What news ya got for me today? How's 'Hattan?" Racetrack Higgins smiled his big Italian smile, "Jack is keeping the place under control, I don't know who you do it, Conlon?" Spot chuckled, "It's a talent of mine. How's Jacky-boy these days?" The two boys exchanged the customary spit-in-the-hand shake then Race continued, "He's doing fine. It's the same old, same old for Cowboy, still dreaming of Santa Fe and all." At this, Spot shrugged his shoulders, "Typical, I guess." In turn, Race nodded.

The two talked for several minutes about everything that entered their minds: girls, papes, the horse races, and money. Before long, Spot broke the pleasantries, "Alright, down to business Race. The boids be chirpin' in my ear. You got information I want about the Cobra. Spill." Race knew that was all Spot had originally wanted out of him so he consented to his friend's wish, "Cobra's not hiding. He is boasting about killin' ol' Tails. He's told just about every newsie from Queens to the Bronx, and Harlem in between. No one puts up a fight cuz he'd put 'em in der place in seconds. They're all scared."

Spot stood up, nose to nose with Racetrack, "Spot Conlon ain't scared of the Cobra. I'll soak 'em for what he did. No, I'll kill him and avenge Tails. You have my word." Race simply shook his head in disbelief, "Conlon, you got some balls, bruddah. If you'se wanting to get at the Cobra, the all-brawn-no-brain method is not the most effective way to accomplish that task." Put some brains into it and you'll figure dis out. I best be on my way back to 'Hattan. I'se still got three lousy papes to sell." Spot turned back toward the water, "Later Race." He stared long and hard at blue-green water, it had such a relaxing effect on him and he could never understand why that was. The water cast him into a deep trance, reminding him of the fire. He missed his family so much but as the leader of Brooklyn, he could show no weakness, no emotion, no sympathy. But deep inside he wanted to break down. _Pops, I need ya. I need Mama. I need Ava, Johnny, and especially Emma. Please be watchin' over me. I know you'se doing a good job. I love ya. I don't think I can do this, Papa. I need you by my side tellin' me what to do and showin' me how. It's been two long years without you'se all. _He could hear his father's voice, something he had told him years ago when Spot was young: _You can do anything you put your mind to, Tommy. Don't worry about what other people think, Make them remember you. I love you, son._ Spot smiled, his father had always been such a huge support in his life and Spot knew that the only times his father had become angry with him, it was for good reason. His father was molding him into a good strong young man and knew that his father was looking down on him right now and was proud of what he saw.

Spot paced up and down the dock for almost half an hour before he returned to the lodging house. Medda was having a big show for the newsies that night and he wanted to look his best. Medda had essentially become the mother that many of the Newsies didn't have; she loved them all equally and could name each one by heart but with Spot she had a special bond, he was her favorite so full of charm and boyish swagger. "Heya, Medda. You'se gonna put on a great show tonight, like every night." Spot smiled as he greeted her that night. She gave him a warm hug and thanked him. The hug, Spot was never going to say anything but he loved Medda's hugs. They were almost like his mother's, so warm and tender, and meaningful. "You had better be right up front, Spot." She patted his head and he chuckled, You KNOW I will be, Medda!" He walked back into the theatre and found his seat next to Donny, Race, and Jack.

The performance was above and beyond Spot's expectations. Medda had always managed to outdo her last show and the Newsies loved her for it. There was short intermission before the last song so the boys all began to chatter amongst themselves. It was then that Spot, while talking to Jack noticed something bright out of the corner of his eye. He turned toward the object of his attention to discover an older boy with a red bandana. _Cobra, I found ya. _He turned back to Jack, "Jacky-boy, wanna help me with somethin'. You too, Race!" Both boys nodded as Spot stood and began to walk toward the back of the theatre. Neither of the two had a clue as to what he was doing. Spot knew exactly what he was doing: exacting revenge. He was going to kill Cobra and then the murder of Tails would be justified. He stepped right behind the leader of Queens and tapped his shoulder rather harshly. Cobra turned, "If ain't Spot Conlon, leader of dat raggedy bunch of newsies from that craphole called Brooklyn." Spot could feel his inside ignite with hatred, first Tails, and then he insults Brooklyn. "Not too smart, Cobra, not too smart. I'm here on business." Cobra sneered, "What business would that be, Conlon."

Spot pulled his cane from his belt and looked it up and down then he caressed the handle, "You remember Tails? You should. You killed him."

"Ah, yeah, who could forget Tails? He was a good newsie. I liked him." Cobra said raising his eyebrow. Spot lunged at him, "Then why did ya _kill_ him! Why?!" Meanwhile, Jack and Race were trying to pry Spot away from Cobra but it was to no avail. Spot released everything he had, all that anger that had built up inside him. Fist after fist made impact with Cobra's jaw. At last, Jack lifted Spot away from his victim. "I'll murder ya, ya dirty rotten scabba'!" The whole theatre filled with taunts, jeers, and cheers. Other scuffles broke out and soon Medda appeared on the stage. "Boys, cut it out! I think it's time to go. See you all next week." The theatre emptied at her command but the night's antics did not end there. Spot followed Cobra outside. "I ain't done with you'se!" Cobra broke into a sprint with Spot in tow. Up and down the streets until they found their way to Harlem. Cobra had much more stamina than Spot, but the Brooklyn leader had determination which sufficed to keep him close enough that he could follow. Eventually, Spot chased his victim up onto a roof, Cobra was cornered.


	6. Truth

"It's over, Cobra. I got ya cornered, now fess up 'fore I kill ya!" Spot lunged toward him. Cobra stepped onto the ledge forcing Spot to freeze. He smirked, "You want information and I'se got it. I didn't wanna kill Tails. It was a job, like everything else. After it happened, I got lotsa praise from Queens, the Bronx, Harlem, and even a little bout of congratulations from Brooklyn."

Spot's eyes widened, "What? Who? Tell me, now!" He watched as Cobra tried to balance his footing on the ledge.

"You'se just like ya Pops! Fiery! Demanding! And dimwitted! I wasn't happy about what I did to Tails but that fire? We had a great time with that one! It kept us quite warm that night!" Cobra hissed. Spot stared in horror, "That was you?! You'se sick! You moidered my entire family!" Spot charged toward Cobra just as the other boy was stepping down from the ledge. Spot met him at the ledge and gave a great shove. Cobra screamed as he fell over the side. He managed to catch the ledge with one arm. He hissed at Spot. What was that? Spot saw something in Cobra's coat pocket: a picture. It looked too familiar to him. He snatched it away and stared at the image, it was his family: his father, his mother, Ava, Johnny, Emma but no Spot, he must have been in Chicago at the time. He ignored Cobra's pleas as he studied the photo; there was something odd about it, however. There was a baby in his mother's arms. A baby? Spot had another sibling! He shot his gaze back to Cobra, "There was a baby?" Cobra struggling the ledge, managed to speak as best he could, "Yeah, but you'll never find the kid! They sent it away after the fire, I don't know where."

"Who put you up to this?" Spot shouted, now even more angry with the situation.

"It was – Brooklyn – one of – yours. Happy trails, Conlon." Cobra said, releasing his grip of the ledge. Spot tried to reach out and snatch his arm before it fell out of reach, "Cobra!" he turned his gaze away. He heard Cobra's body make impact with the alley ground. It was awful and indescribable. He was angry. So much was happening! Cobra confessed to Tails' murder and now his family's murder. The leader of Queens was dead and was working for someone in Brooklyn, meaning whoever was behind this masquerade had plenty of power; worst of all Spot has a brother or sister out there somewhere that he has never known about. He slunk off the rooftop and back to the Brooklyn lodging house. The long walk home gave him time to think on everything again. _Why is life so harsh?_

"Spot! It's two in the mornin'! Where ya been? Josiah and da boys been worryin' about ya!" Wiz said as he emerged from the house and jogged toward Spot. Spot looked up, he was in tears and still very angry, "I'se been walking all the da way from Harlem. Cobra's dead." Spot explained everything to the very shocked Wiz, everything except his surviving sibling, that would be trusted only to those closest to Spot and as of now Wiz was a suspect as was every other newsie in Brooklyn. _It was – Brooklyn – one of – yours. Happy trails, Conlon. _Spot couldn't sleep that night, who could blame him; his life was a mess so full of anguish and death. Truth be told Spot had not slept in three days. He could lie down for only a short time before he was up again, pacing the bunk room up and down before he'd slip quietly out onto the roof. Tonight, as he stood on the roof, however, he steered clear of the ledges. Instead he prostrated himself in the middle of the rooftop and gazed up towards the night sky. Death,that is all he could think about anymore perhaps because that was what his life had become stained with. He just wanted to live normal, again. Being a newsie had its perks but if life could rewind til before the fire, Spot sure wouldn't have cared. He pulled the photo of his family from his shirt pocket and brought it into the light. He looked at his mother's smiling face and then to his father, looking stern but in reality he had always been a kind and loving father. Ava, two years his younger, she had always been there to help their mother with whatever she need and often was found copying her mother's every move. Then there was Johnny, much like Spot was when he was younger, the younger Conlon boy was rambunctious, happy, and often open to mischief. Spot shifted his icy blue eyes toward little Emma, perched in her father's arms, the small toddler had quite the fraternal bond with Spot; often found sobbing her eyes out, she'd flee to Spot's waiting arms and find comfort. Spot felt a tear roll down his soft cheeks. His focus turned to the baby, it looked very much like Spot, though he could not tell whether he had a baby brother or a baby sister, so he would just label it as Baby Conlon._ I __**will**__ find you_, _even if I'se got to travel to da ends of the earth._ He had to find out where the baby was taken after the fire and it donned on him who could spill the information: Joseph Pulitzer. After all he had taken Spot's father under his wing as a journalist when the Conlons first arrived in America and had nurtured quite a friendship with Mr. Conlon. But Spot couldn't go to Pulitzer now; an disagreement had developed between some of the newsies and the newspaper distributors and though events like these had happened before, Spot knew it was best to stay out of Pulitzer's path when such events surfaced. _What do I care what Pulitzer thinks right now. I gotta find my kid sibling!_ He thought long and hard about the situation and before he knew it he had drifted off to sleep there in the middle of the rooftop.


	7. Confrontation With Pulitzer

He awoke to a brisk wind brushing across his face. He tiredly brushed some hair that had fallen over his eyes, to the side. He coughed roughly then stretched his arms out before rising and returning inside the Lodging House. "Ight, boys, get ya lazy bums outta bed, we got papes to sell!" A chorus of groans and moans erupted.

"Just another minute er two, Spot!" Sprint growled. Spot approached the newsie's bunk slowly reached up and with a strong yank removed Sprint from his bed. "No, Sprintah, I'se tellin' ya now! Get the rest of dese boys ready as well! Dat's an ordah!" Sprint groaned but carried on as he was told. Spot walked through the bunkroom with his usual swagger, awakening all his newsies with his commanding and booming voice. He walked down stairs and greeted Josiah. He was about to leave the Lodging House, when he turned back to Josiah.

"Hey Jo! Can I ask ya somethin'?" he questioned the caretaker. Josiah nodded, "Course ya can, Spot."

"Well, I have a private mattah I'se wanting to talk with someone about; it concerns me family." Spot poured out as he slumped down on the stool in front of Josiah, "What might that be, boy?" came the answer.

Spot gazed up at his caretaker and friend, "You knows about da fire that killed me family." Josiah nodded. "Well, turns out Ma had anothah baby when I'se was away and well I got word dat this baby is still alive and I wanna find it. "

"It's alive? I'm sure you do wanna find it then, boy. What can I do ta help ya?" Josiah answered, now very concerned.

"Well, nothing, 'cept giving me yer opinion on somethin'. I'se plannin' on talkin to Pulitzer 'bout it cuz he and my Pa was close."

Josiah shifted his eyes to the wall behind Spot then back to him, " You thinkin' he knows where the baby is?" Spot nodded. "I'd say it's worth a shot then. Hopefully, he can help out with this problem. Talk to him soon as ya can, boy." Spot thanked him then left and headed straight for Pulitzer's office. His head raced with ideas of what exactly he needed to say and how he was going to say. He moved onto to annunciation of his words as he didn't want Pulitzer to think his father had raised a street rat, though most newsies were labeled that way regardless. But then, did Joseph Pulitzer even know Spot was a newsie? Did he even know if Spot was alive? Across the Brooklyn Bridge he went, through street upon street of Manhattan until he at last came to the square that was home to Pulitzer by day, the offices of _The New York World._ The building was massive and shot up toward the sky, like nothing Spot Conlon had ever seen before. He entered the building and proceed to the desk, where he promptly asked to see Pulitzer. The secretary directed him upstairs and toward a large wooden door. She gently knocked three times.

"Yes? Who's there?" A gruff voice on the opposite side of the door spoke. The secretary spoke up quickly, "Sorry to disturb you sir." She said as she entered Pulitzer's office, "There is a young boy to see you. I believe he is a newsboy." Soon she emerged from the office and ushered Spot in. Stepping in he was taken aback by the tremendously large chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It shined so wonderfully it could light up a room three times the size of Pulitzer's office. He looked to his feet, beneath his worn out shoes was a large carpet, rather soft. _Good enough to sleep on_, he thought. He was shaken from his thoughts by Pulitzer's booming voice, "State your name and your business here, boy." Spot was nervous, his hands trembled and his legs wobbled. He could not understand why he was so scared. He quickly got hold of himself and spoke, "I'se – I mean, I have come for some information, Mister Pulitzer, sir." Forcing proper annunciation had become quite a laborious task since Spot had become a Newsie.

"What is your name, boy? Answer all the questions asked to you." Pulitzer responded slightly annoyed.

Spot gulped, "Sorry sir, Conlon. Spot Conlon – Thomas Conlon I mean, sir." He shifted his gaze back and forth between Pulitzer and another man with white hair, possibly a bit younger than Pulitzer.

Pulitzer glared at Spot, "Conlon, you say? Your father was Anthony Francis Conlon and your mother was Mary Conlon?" Spot nodded nervously. "They died in a house fire. How is it that you are still alive? Accept my deepest sympathies, Thomas; Anthony and I were very close once. _Once? What did that mean?_ Suddenly the other man spoke up, "He was attending a boys' school in Chicago at the time, Chief." Pulitzer turned to his associate and nodded in approval, "Ah, thank you Seitz; though I am certain the boy can speak for himself." He turned back to Spot, "Your siblings all perished, yes? Save for the infant. I believe your mother had left the child with a friend for the day, and then as you know tragedy occurred." Wow, Pulitzer was telling Spot all that he wanted to hear and he hadn't even asked yet.

"The baby, Mister Pulitzer, what was its name?" Spot asked anxiously. The aging Pulitzer turned away toward the window, "Samuel. Samuel James Conlon. He resides here in the city, under the care and protection of one Mr. William Allen and his wife Elaine." Pulitzer froze, and then proceeded toward the balcony window. He peered suspiciously out through the glass over the square below. His attention was fixed on several newsies who had been frolicking about the square. "Seitz, find out the boys' names and assigned them more papers. They should be working not playing. I do not pay them to play around. Show young Mister Conlon out as well. I am meeting Mister Hearst in half an hour and must prepare myself. Good day Thomas." Spot did his best to fit in another question but Seitz led him promptly. "I wasn't done!" Seitz looked at him, "Mister Pulitzer only has so much time. He is very busy at this time of year." The voice came sternly and Spot knew it was best not to argue at this point besides he had gotten his information without asking more than a single question. He exited the newspaper and proceeded toward Tibby's restaurant.


	8. The Search

It was near eleven o'clock and Spot was starved, having not eaten because of his meeting with Pulitzer. He found his favorite table and perused the menu momentarily before ordering his usual meal of chicken and bread. Before long, he spotted Sprinter and Donny approaching the restaurant carrying an entire stack of papes; they were Spot's papes. He had completely forgotten about snatching his usual one-hundred papes before he had come to Manhattan. The two newsies strolled in the door and situated themselves near Spot. He wondered how they had managed to find him, "Well, Josiah said you'se was comin' to 'Hattan so Donny and I figured you'd probably be here if you wasn't at the 'Hattan Lodgin' House." Spot nodded with approval then quickly countered a favor to the newsies, "Will ya sell me papes, boys? Please I'se got something important ta do. You can have the pay, too, all of it." After some amount of prodding the two consented and left shortly, a bit annoyed with having to sell one hundred more papes. Spot finished his food, paid, and left he had a lot of work to do if he was to find this Mr. William Allen.

Spot went house to house the entire day, though many people knew about William Allen, they didn't know enough for a location or how one might be able to contact him without personal invitation. Spot went an entire week, searching Manhattan, Brooklyn, Midtown, Queens, and Harlem. The days flew by and Spot progressively became angrier as each day passed without any luck in the whereabouts of his baby brother. He had begun to give up as he searched the Bronx, now two weeks removed from his initial start; it had been raining all day and the fifteen mile walk from Brooklyn to the Bronx had begun to take its toll on Brooklyn's leader. He was soaked with rainwater, but he trudged hopefully through the streets continuing door-to-door in hopes of any information. He was very cold and had begun to feel very weak. He huddled in a doorway of an abandoned building on Holland Avenue. He was exhausted. After two weeks of no luck, Spot officially had given up; obviously it just wasn't meant to be. Spot could feel his anger start to boil inside him. He wanted to find his brother. He needed his brother. He decided to head back to Brooklyn when the rain stopped and just wait for any news to come to him. As he schemed, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy upon his eyes, his vision blurred and he passed out. All he could remember was being lifted into a carriage by two men then everything faded again.


	9. A Strange New World

"_Ya dead Conlon and Brooklyn's gonna be all mine." Cobra's villainously called to him, Spot felt himself tied down to a bed, or perhaps it was a chair. He was bleeding from the mouth and his eye was swollen as a grapefruit. Cobra emerged from the shadows. "You'se dead, Cobra. I watched ya die!" Cobra hissed as he drew a long, sharp blade his belt and lunged it into Spot as he stared menacingly into his victim's eyes. "You killed me. You killed me. You killed me, Spot Conlon." Cobra's voice echoed as Spot felt the blade being twisted and plunged deeper into his body. He screamed out._

He awoke with a start, gasping direly for air. He was alone in a massive room which was quite unfamiliar to him, with large oak doors like those in Pulitzer's office, though it had no chandelier it had plenty of gaping windows which, though they had large curtains covering them, would surely welcome in the light once they were drawn. What of the bed? It was three times the size of his bed back at the lodging house. The blanket kept him quite warm and the pillows were so soft. But where in the world was Spot?

On cue, the door was opened carefully and in walked a young maid. She was tall for a girl, brown hair that even though it was pulled back, looked rather plentiful, she was petite and seemed as though she knew a thing or two about etiquette and "rich people things." The maid saw that he was awake and smiled, "How do you feel this morning? Was your sleeping gown comfortable? Is there anything I can get for you?" So many questions all at once left Spot confused, "Uh, yeah, I'se feel great –" he paused, his gaze shot down to his chest. He had not yet noticed the bright white garment that he was wearing, it stretched from his torso to his mid-calf. What the hell was this? He never had heard of this kind of thing. He had always worn long johns to bed even as a child. The rich and powerful had strange ways of doing things, he thought. This also meant that someone had helped to change his clothes and he only hoped it hadn't been that maid. He looked at her face and studied it. She had dimples, a pretty smile, and her brown eyes sparkled like none he had ever seen before.

"What's ya name, goil – I mean – miss?" He corrected himself, trying to sound as gentlemanly as possible. She laughed, as she gathered some clothes from the wardrobe that sat opposite the bed.

"My name is Clara and you are?" She responded turning back to Spot.

"Spot – I'm Spot." He said, with a full head of steam. She raised an eyebrow and chuckled, "That's interesting. How does one come by acquiring such a name?"

"Well, I'se da leadah of the Brooklyn newsies, ya know, I'se gotta keep all of dem in line, tell 'em what to do, that sort of thing. Anyways, back when I foist joined up with Brooklyn, I was eleven at da time, and da boys made me shoot at some glass bottles as kinda an initiation thing, ya get it. The leadah at the time, Tails, gave me the name Spot cuz I'se nailed every one dem bottles."

"Impressive. What's your real name, then?"

"Thomas, well if ya must call me by foist name then please call me Tommy; Thomas is for dem ol' men." Spot said trying his best to be charming. She seemed like a tough nut to crack, however.

"Well Thomas, here are some of the master's son's old clothes. He wishes to visit with you when you are feeling your best. Shall I let him know you are available?" Spot expression changed quickly; he was mad. He felt his brow furrow and frown droop his face. He nodded as she turned to leave. _Priss! What a stuck up, no good, lousy bitch!_ Hell if Spot ever treated her with kindness, again. Within minutes, the door was opened once again, but instead of the young prissy girl, an elderly gentleman walked in. His face was quite wrinkled with age but he still had a look of kindness about him.

"How do you feel young man? Well I hope." To this Spot nodded and thanked him. The man smiled, "Speak nothing of it, you were in need and I saw it as my duty to help you. The maid tells me you are named Thomas but you prefer Tommy and so that is how shall I address you, Tommy."

Spot smiled, he preferred this man to the maid by a long shot. Even though the old man may never call him Spot, as was his wish. The man's smile continued. Spot noticed that his host was a mid-height thin framed gentleman; even his aging eyes showed a kind and spirited aura. Spot actually felt important and respected by someone superior to him for the first time since his parents died.

"Where are my manners? I have not yet introduced myself. My name is Allen, William Allen. Spot's heart raced, he could feel his jaw drop though he quickly forced it shut. _The_ William Allen, the man he had been searching for these past two weeks. God was good, directing Spot right to his target in such slim circumstances. What were the odds? "Your full name, Tommy, what is it?"

Spot froze momentarily. He didn't know how to answer. If he revealed his real name to Mr. Allen, things could get ugly. As much as he already liked the old man, he didn't want to be subjected to his care. Spot liked being a newsie, the rough and tough life, and most of all Brooklyn. If he said he was a Conlon, Mr. Allen may bring him under his wing or perhaps, turn him in to protect the baby. He wanted to see his brother so very badly but perhaps now wasn't the best time.

"Jones, Tommy Jones." He answered abruptly. Mr. Allen smiled again, "Well, Mr. Jones. If you would like, the wife and I will be taking breakfast within the hour. Dress yourself and join us, won't you?" Spot nodded quickly and forced a smile. After Mr. Allen left, Spot glared at the clothes laid out for him. This was something he hadn't had done for him since he was seven. The clothes themselves were overly accentuated with rich buttons and soft silk materials. With a sigh, he slipped quickly into his new clothes and made his out of the room, wandering through the large halls until he found the stairs. His gaze found the bannister. Spot smirked, he had always wanted to slide down a long bannister; he glanced around quickly to see who might be watching then without a second thought hopped on to the rail and slid down. He hit the floor at the foot of the stairs with a loud thump, but quickly rose and brushed himself off.


	10. Breakfast With Mr Allen - Sam Conlon

"What on earth is going on out here?" an older maid said emerging from a room to Spot's left. "Oh, hello, You must be Tommy, the boy the master picked up last night. I am Maggie the head maid. The master expects you. Follow me. Spot followed quickly, eagerly whetting his appetite as he went. Soon, he found himself in a large room with a very long dining table in the middle of it. A large chandelier hung above it shedding a great deal of light on the room. At the head of the table sat Mr. Allen to his right, a young boy about eleven, a girl about eight; to his right a girl a bit older than Spot maybe fifteen, he guessed, and next to her another girl maybe twelve. Mr. Allen eyed the boy as soon as he entered, "Tommy, just in time! These are my grandchildren and my wife," he said pointing to an elderly lady opposite him who was helping a maid attend to a baby – the baby? Sam! Spot's gaze was fixed on the baby, even as the Maggie led him to a vacant seat closer to Mrs. Allen. It suited him just fine as he could study his kid brother better. Sam looked just like Spot and his mother: same nose, mouth, ears, and chin but his father's eyes. Spot smiled at him and Sam, though at first rather cautious, began to smile and giggle right back.

"I see you have a knack with children, Tommy." Mr. Allen spoke. Spot turned and smiled, "Yeah, I guess I do." He said, again forcing his articulation. "You have a wonderful grandbaby." He lied, trying to play along as Tommy Jones. Mrs. Allen smiled, "Oh, this child is not our grandchild. He is our son. We adopted him when he was just 4 months old. His parents and other siblings were killed in a house fire. It was quite devastating." Spot did not need an old lady to tell him how devastating it had been. It had rocked Spot's world like an earthquake, leaving nothing but a shattered soul and a ruined life for Spot.

"The whole family was killed? Were there no survivors?" He queried.

"Actually, yes, the eldest son survived. He was away at boarding school when it happened. His name was Thomas, like yours. He is thirteen, if I remember correctly." Mr. Allen said graciously. Suddenly the smallest grandchild spoke, "You kinda look like Sammy!" Mrs. Allen glanced at Spot then shook her head convincingly.

"Coincidence, I suppose." Spot shrugged, hoping the Allens would not catch on.

"How old are you, Tommy?" Mrs. Allen questioned.

Spot gulped softly, "Fifteen, ma'am." Lie again! Spot hated lying to such kind people but he knew if they discovered he was Thomas Conlon, things would go badly. "Oh my! You certainly don't look fifteen." Mrs. Allen stated. As the family ate their meal, Spot kept staring around the room at all the faces, hoping he was not being glared at suspiciously.

"So this Thomas Conlon, does anyone know what happened to him?" Spot asked concernedly. Mr. Allen shook his head, "He was brought back here to New York by the Warden Snyder, who runs the boys' refuge here. Thomas escaped and no one has seen or heard from him since. It was said he died in Brooklyn a few nights after he fled the Refuge, though a body was never found. It is truly unfortunate for young Samuel to never be able to know or remember his brother, Thomas, let alone his family. Why all the concern, Tommy?"

Spot shrugged, "I just want to make sure he is good hands, I heard about the fire and it just tears at ya a little inside. I'm glad he's got great people to look after him."

"Thank you Tommy. You know, we have several spare bedrooms remaining; you could live with us as well. Be the older brother Sam will never have." Mr. Allen replied encouragingly.

The entire conversation tore the hole in Spot's heart a little deeper, _Sam has an older brother who will care for him and that's me! I can't take Sam away from here now, though, he's still too young and fragile. Maybe another year or two under the guidance of the Allen's would be best. _

After the meal had been finished, Spot thanked the Allens but went on his way. It was a long walk back to Brooklyn and Spot need to get back to his boys. He had not been back to Brooklyn in the past week, knowing it was better to continue on rather than circle back each day.

_Spot has found Mister Allen, shame. What will the boss think of this when I tell him?_ The figure moved from its hiding spot in a nearby alley, watching as Spot left the Allen residence. He followed methodically after Spot, eyeing his every move to report to his boss.


	11. Death Comes Again

"Mr. Allen has failed to keep the child hidden. He has failed me, dispose of him by whatever means then bring the child to me. As for the boy, ruin him. I don't want this whole ordeal to break apart more than it already has. The sooner he and the rest of his kind are extinct. The sooner I will be at peace. His father almost ruined me and I will not stand for any sort of resistance. His father, Anthony Conlon had become so well known, he almost took my position from me. We disposed of him and his pathetic family with the fire, but now we must return to finish the job. If young Conlon were to rescue his brother, he would expose us and my entire company could be ruined. Don't fail me."

"Yes Mr. Hearst."

_Later _

William Allen arrived home late, business had held him up more than usual. He approached the steps to his home wearily and was reaching for the door when a voice called from behind, "Mistah Allen, I gots a message fo ya from Mistah Hoist. Says you messed up somethin' awful."

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Mr. Allen asked sternly.

"It's about the Conlon baby and his bruddah. Tommy Conlon was 'ere at you'se house today and you was too blind to realize it was 'im! You'se endangering Mistah Hoist's plans, you'se a loose end, Bill. I'se da one dat ties up loose ends." The figure yanked a revolver from his waistcoat.

"What are you doing? I had no idea it was him! Please – no!" Three shots rang out into the night air as the figure sprinted off down the street. Mrs. Allen emerged from the house and screamed. A policeman who was in the area and had heard the shots came running to Mr. Allen's side.

"Take the boy. Take Samuel – and keep him – safe. Get – out of – New York." His hand grazed her cheek, "I love you my – dear." Suddenly his hand dropped and Mrs. Allen broke into tears and wails. William Allen died an innocent man, never knowing the full extent of Mr. Hearst's scheme.

Spot did not hear of the news til late the next evening when he stopped by the Allen's to pay his respects to the kindness that had been shown to him just days earlier. He comforted Mrs. Allen and even helped her prepare to leave. She would take Sam with her to Albany, though she had not yet discovered Spot's true identity, she entrusted her location to him, due to his attachment to the baby, and only a handful of close friends. She had no real understanding of her husband's role or the child's role in the situation. She only knew that her husband had always told her to protect the baby as if it were her own.

Spot was heartbroken with having to depart from his brother who he had only seen for the first time just two days earlier. As hard as it was to watch his brother leave, Spot knew he would see him again. Right now, he had much work to do. The more he thought about things, the more he began to draw conclusions. Death had found its way into Spot's life multiple times now and he wanted to understand why. First his family was murdered, then Tails was stabbed in the back, then Cobra died unwilling to give up the name of who had hired him and now Mr. Allen was shot. Each victim had played some significant role in Spot's life and Spot was determined to find the answer as to what each had to do with this mystery. He knew, certainly, that Cobra was working for someone, someone with ties in Brooklyn. If he could find the traitor in Brooklyn, perhaps he could shed some light on the entire circumstance.


	12. Showdown

~ December 1897 ~ Two full years since Spot's family was murdered.

"Spot, I'se headin' ta 'Hattan! Meetin' with Blink and Mush at Medda's tonight. Don't wait up fer me!" Donny shouted as he left the boarding house. Spot knew better than to sit around and do nothing. He wanted to know what Donny was up to so he followed at a safe distance. It was snowy and cold, just days before Christmas. The walk to Manhattan was harsh, especially crossing the Brooklyn Bridge but Spot persisted. After what seemed like hours, Spot had traced Donny to Medda's where Kid Blink and Mush were anxiously awaiting him. Then Spot saw something that shook him to the core. It was Wiz! He was speaking with a very shady-looking character in an alley next to Medda's. Spot could see the man passing Wiz a small amount bag of coins then quickly vanishing down the alley. Wiz, meanwhile, slipped into Medda's. Spot followed closely behind. He watched Wiz throughout the entire performance and toward show's end slipped out before Wiz to wait in the chilling cold. The minutes dragged and Spot could feel his extremities start to numb. After fifteen minutes passed, and the newsie crowd began to trickle out of the theater, Spot eyed his target moving swiftly from the theater, and he followed. When he was sure that no one was around, he called out to Wiz, "Yo Wiz! Bruddah, wait up! Going back to the lodging house, are ya?"

Wiz was a bit surprised at Spot's presence and suddenly became rather unstable, "Yeah, Spot, yeah, how about you'se?" Spot nodded, "Yeah. Wiz, boids be chirpin' in me ear, again. I'se got somethin' ta discuss wit' ya." Wiz froze.

"What's wrong, Wiz? Ya nervous? Ya bettah be! Who was that you was talkin to in da alley outside Medda's? Who was it?!" Spot threatened.

"It wasn't nobody, Spot! I swears!" Wiz pleaded. Spot grabbed Wiz's collar and pulled him nose to nose, "You'se actin' like ya got somethin' ta hide Wiz! Too much has been happening ta me lately ta take me chances. Who was ya talkin' to?" He swung a hard right that impacted Wiz's jaw. Suddenly Wiz's entire demeanor changed, "You'se was gonna discover it one way or anudder! I'se workin for me uncle, Conlon! In exchange for da handy work and some information, he was gonna put me in charge of da borough!"

"Which borough? Who's ya uncle?" Spot asked furiously.

"Brooklyn, Spot, it was always s'posed ta be mine!" I was second in command before Tails came along. Me uncle was kind enough to help me out as long I returned da favor."

"Who is ya uncle, Wiz? What favors ya talkin about?" Spot angrily asked pulling his cane from his belt.

"Hearst. William Hearst, happy? The favor, doing his dirty work with the help of Cobra. We did it all: the fire that killed ya family, Tails, and Bill Allen. Cobra killed Tails for me, my uncle had nothing on that one. Unfortunately, Spot now that I told ya this I'se gotta kill ya." Wiz declared pulling to long steel knives from waistcoat.

"You will try you worthless son of a bitch!" Spot said as he charged toward Wiz. The biting cold had little effect on either of the boys both driven by hatred, their fiery and determined spirits kept them warm enough. Spot swung with all he could muster, he was relentless in his attacks while Wiz defended himself swiftly, occasionally lunging at Spot. It was then that Wiz lunged at Spot and cut him in the abdomen. Spot cringed and yelped, reeling back and losing control of his weapon. He clutched his side as blood oozed from his wound.

"See now why I'se should have been in charge of Brooklyn. You'se weak and careless; and now you'se gonna die, Conlon." Wiz hissed, half-celebrating already. He tossed one of his blades aside, clasping both hands tightly around the hilt then stepping over Spot.

"I'se thinkin' the other way around, Wiz; you'se gonna be da dead one." Spot said wincing in pain. His aggressor laughed, how do ya intend to do that, Conlon?" I'se gonna cut ya damn heart out." Suddenly Spot shot his leg up, nailing Wiz between the legs and causing him to release his grip on the long knife which dropped deathly close to Spot head. In a flurrying effort to end the conflict, Spot thrashed his arm out and snatched the blade into his firm grip.

"You betrayed Brooklyn and murdered innocent people in da process. You'se a power hungry bastahd!" He yelled, lunging the blade into Wiz's torso. The boy gasped and collapsed to the cold snowy ground. Spot huffed and puffed and rubbed his hands together to regain some warmth. He bent down over Wiz's lifeless body and ripped the blade from his body. He glare at the blade then chucked it into the dark alley. He glanced at his hands, which were stained red with blood. Using a piece of material he had torn away from Wiz's shirt , he bandaged his wound and then covered himself with Wiz's waistcoat. The snow was now stained red with both the blood of Spot and that of Wiz. He could not leave the body in the street as he had done with Cobra, so he lifted Wiz's body onto his shoulders and carried him all the way to the office of Mr. William Hearst.

It was early morning by the time Spot reached the office building. He had become progressively weaker and light headed but he wanted to end the madness and find out the truth behind all the killing. He pushed the front doors wide open and dragged the body behind him. Despite a number of gasps and stares, Spot made his way up the steps, figuring he could find Hearst's office without any help, not tthat he would have received any help any way. Before long he reached the top of the staircase and had located Hearst's office at the end of the hall. He paused briefly at the door to catch his breath, then with all his might he knocked on the door. He could hear a faint commotion in the lobby downstairs as shouts of "Police!" rang through the building. Spot could hear them coming. He knew it was almost over.

The door creaked open loudly and Spot gazed in to see an elderly and large man seated at his desk reading some document that lay in front of him. The secretary who had opened the door suddenly screamed as she gazed terrified at Wiz's body being dragged in by Spot. Hearst's head shot up. He almost leapt from his chair at the sight of a battered and bleeding Spot Conlon carrying the body of what appeared to be his nephew, toward his desk. He gasped as Spot tossed Wiz's body onto the desktop. "Henry!" He shouted leaning over Wiz's body. Spot, meanwhile, forced the secretary out and slammed the doors shut locking them as he did so.

"I know who you are, Thomas Conlon!" Hearst hissed, "You did this. You murdered my nephew!"

"What goes around comes around, Hoist. I know da whole story. You murdered my entire family in dat fire and know I'se gonna see dat you'se suffer like hell for what you done to me." Spot was furious. He had no idea what was holding him back from beating Hearst to death right there. "Why? Why did you do it? They was innocent!" Spot screamed.

"You want to know why, Conlon. Your father wanted to take over. He offered what the people wanted in the paper; the arts, the entertainment and things I could never offer. Then one day I was informed he had stolen from me. So I torched the house! I learned after words that he had been set up. I was sorry then but when I found out that you were loose somewhere in the city, my feelings changed. Your father was going to take away everything I had worked so hard to create. Everything! I wasn't going to let him get away with anything. Mr. Allen was charged with keeping the identity of your youngest brother hidden. After you discovered his whereabouts, I could not allow Mr. Allen to do anything rash." Hearst angrily confessed as he clutched Wiz's body.

"So you killed him; like you did my father, mother, and family, in cold blood. If dat is what money and power ends up bringin' ta ya. I want no part of it, ya corrupt bastahd. I came here for one reason: to bring you to justice, Hoist!" Spot pulled a knife from his sock and raised it into a threatening position, "Here's to Papa, Mama, Ava, Johnny Boy, Emma, Sam, Tails Mistah Allen, and hell even Cobra for being a part of your conniving twisted schemes!" He swung the blade down and Mr. Hearst screeched. But Spot had not killed him. Hearst opened his eyes to find the knife plunged into the wood of the desk. Hearst fell away from his nephew's and collapsed into his chair. Moments later the police had busted the door down. "Arrest that boy! He has killed my nephew and has just now tried to kill me!"

The policeman shot his gaze at Spot, who simply glared right back. The officer put his hand on his shoulder and spoke, "We heard the entire story from outside. We've been searching for the people responsible for that fire that killed your family for some time but the trail went dry long ago. Now thanks to you, it's over. Well done, kid." The officer turned to Mr. Hearst, "William Hearst, you are under arrest for the involvement in the deaths of Anthony Conlon, his wife and their children, Mr. William Allen and kidnapping of a young child."

After much protest, Mr. Hearst was hauled away and Wiz's bodied was wrapped up and taken away as well. Spot, meanwhile was immediately rushed to a nearby doctor. The wound he had sustained was not life threatening and within a day Spot was back on his feet, though the doctor had recommended longer. His life changed drastically, the media was all over the story that had Spot's face on the front each and every major newspaper across the country. It took almost three weeks to finally lose the last of the media but when that had happened, Spot returned to his old ways: back to being a newsie. He had visited his family's graves for the first time since he had first returned to New York. He was teary-eyed of course, but now he felt closure and he knew that his family's legacy was at peace


	13. What Now - Finis

Spot's popularity rose. He stood alone as the city's most feared and respected newsie, let's not forget he is only thirteen. He often had run-ins with random reporters but he had his way with them. He was offered a home and a stash of money but Spot could not accept it because that wasn't who we was anymore. He was a newsie and that is all he wanted to be. He had only known pain, suffering, hard times, and how to dig in the dirt to survive.

Even though Spot did not accept the money, it was still used for good purposes toward remodeling the newsie lodging houses around the city. The newsies were pleased but no one was more pleased than Spot.

It is this past that molded Spot Conlon into what he has been known as. His emotions virtually disappeared and his demeanor hardened after these events had occurred. He showed himself as brutal and commanding not because he wanted to but because he had to. He had to show himself as the people had come to expect him: a boy broken down by tragedy and hardened by conflict and death, mature and strong but a street rat nonetheless. Spot knew he wasn't a street rat but he eventually grew used to it. When goodness fades so does happiness. Spot had endured so much trial and tribulation that his kind, quirky, jolly little self that he embodied as a child, died along with his family; that was Tommy Conlon, this is Spot Conlon, the legend of Brooklyn.

THE END…for now.

_**Sequel is in the works: will Spot ever see his brother again? Will he finally find love? Brooklyn's fate lies hand in hand with Spot.**_


	14. Author's Note

**Please Rate and Review!** I just want to thank you all for reading. I absolutely love to write and this being my first story, I know there is PLENTY of room for improvement. I had a few gaps that need to be filled but due to lack of time and longevity of the story I needed to finish it. A sequel will be in the works: focusing on Spot and his brother and yes a girl will undoubtedly be thrown into the story because I know how much everyone likes a good Spot Conlon romance.

_**Revan11**_


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